The Scarlet Pimpernel Read online

  Feeling in every part of England certainly ran very high at this timeagainst the French and their doings. Smugglers and legitimate tradersbetween the French and the English coasts brought snatches of news fromover the water, which made every honest Englishman's blood boil, andmade him long to have "a good go" at those murderers, who had imprisonedtheir king and all his family, subjected the queen and the royalchildren to every species of indignity, and were even now loudlydemanding the blood of the whole Bourbon family and of every one of itsadherents.

  The execution of the Princesse de Lamballe, Marie Antoinette's youngand charming friend, had filled every one in England with unspeakablehorror, the daily execution of scores of royalists of good family, whoseonly sin was their aristocratic name, seemed to cry for vengeance to thewhole of civilised Europe.

  Yet, with all that, no one dared to interfere. Burke had exhausted allhis eloquence in trying to induce the British Government to fight therevolutionary government of France, but Mr. Pitt, with characteristicprudence, did not feel that this country was fit yet to embarkon another arduous and costly war. It was for Austria to take theinitiative; Austria, whose fairest daughter was even now a dethronedqueen, imprisoned and insulted by a howling mob; surely 'twas not--soargued Mr. Fox--for the whole of England to take up arms, because oneset of Frenchmen chose to murder another.

  As for Mr. Jellyband and his fellow John Bulls, though they lookedupon all foreigners with withering contempt, they were royalist andanti-revolutionists to a man, and at this present moment were furiouswith Pitt for his caution and moderation, although they naturallyunderstood nothing of the diplomatic reasons which guided that greatman's policy.

  By now Sally came running back, very excited and very eager. The joyouscompany in the coffee-room had heard nothing of the noise outside, butshe had spied a dripping horse and rider who had stopped at the doorof "The Fisherman's Rest," and while the stable boy ran forward to takecharge of the horse, pretty Miss Sally went to the front door to greetthe welcome visitor. "I think I see'd my Lord Antony's horse out in theyard, father," she said, as she ran across the coffee-room.

  But already the door had been thrown open from outside, and the nextmoment an arm, covered in drab cloth and dripping with the heavy rain,was round pretty Sally's waist, while a hearty voice echoed along thepolished rafters of the coffee-room.

  "Aye, and bless your brown eyes for being so sharp, my pretty Sally,"said the man who had just entered, whilst worthy Mr. Jellyband camebustling forward, eager, alert and fussy, as became the advent of one ofthe most favoured guests of his hostel.

  "Lud, I protest, Sally," added Lord Antony, as he deposited a kiss onMiss Sally's blooming cheeks, "but you are growing prettier and prettierevery time I see you--and my honest friend, Jellyband here, have hardwork to keep the fellows off that slim waist of yours. What say you, Mr.Waite?"

  Mr. Waite--torn between his respect for my lord and his dislike of thatparticular type of joke--only replied with a doubtful grunt.

  Lord Antony Dewhurst, one of the sons of the Duke of Exeter, was inthose days a very perfect type of a young English gentlemen--tall, wellset-up, broad of shoulders and merry of face, his laughter rang loudlywherever he went. A good sportsman, a lively companion, a courteous,well-bred man of the world, with not too much brains to spoil histemper, he was a universal favourite in London drawing-rooms or in thecoffee-rooms of village inns. At "The Fisherman's Rest" everyone knewhim--for he was fond of a trip across to France, and always spent anight under worthy Mr. Jellyband's roof on his way there or back.

  He nodded to Waite, Pitkin and the others as he at last released Sally'swaist, and crossed over to the hearth to warm and dry himself: as he didso, he cast a quick, somewhat suspicious glance at the two strangers,who had quietly resumed their game of dominoes, and for a moment a lookof deep earnestness, even of anxiety, clouded his jovial young face.

  But only for a moment; the next he turned to Mr. Hempseed, who wasrespectfully touching his forelock.

  "Well, Mr. Hempseed, and how is the fruit?"

  "Badly, my lord, badly," replied Mr. Hempseed, dolefully, "but whatcan you 'xpect with this 'ere government favourin' them rascals over inFrance, who would murder their king and all their nobility."

  "Odd's life!" retorted Lord Antony; "so they would, honest Hempseed,--atleast those they can get hold of, worse luck! But we have got somefriends coming here to-night, who at any rate have evaded theirclutches."

  It almost seemed, when the young man said these words, as if he threw adefiant look towards the quiet strangers in the corner.

  "Thanks to you, my lord, and to your friends, so I've heard it said,"said Mr. Jellyband.

  But in a moment Lord Antony's hand fell warningly on mine host's arm.

  "Hush!" he said peremptorily, and instinctively once again lookedtowards the strangers.

  "Oh! Lud love you, they are all right, my lord," retorted Jellyband;"don't you be afraid. I wouldn't have spoken, only I knew we were amongfriends. That gentleman over there is as true and loyal a subject ofKing George as you are yourself, my lord saving your presence. He isbut lately arrived in Dover, and is setting down in business in theseparts."

  "In business? Faith, then, it must be as an undertaker, for I vow Inever beheld a more rueful countenance."

  "Nay, my lord, I believe that the gentleman is a widower, which no doubtwould account for the melancholy of his bearing--but he is a friend,nevertheless, I'll vouch for that--and you will own, my lord, that whoshould judge of a face better than the landlord of a popular inn--"

  "Oh, that's all right, then, if we are among friends," said Lord Antony,who evidently did not care to discuss the subject with his host. "But,tell me, you have no one else staying here, have you?"

  "No one, my lord, and no one coming, either, leastways--"

  "Leastways?"

  "No one your lordship would object to, I know."

  "Who is it?"

  "Well, my lord, Sir Percy Blakeney and his lady will be here presently,but they ain't a-goin' to stay--"

  "Lady Blakeney?" queried Lord Antony, in some astonishment.

  "Aye, my lord. Sir Percy's skipper was here just now. He says that mylady's brother is crossing over to France to-day in the DAY DREAM, whichis Sir Percy's yacht, and Sir Percy and my lady will come with him asfar as here to see the last of him. It don't put you out, do it, mylord?"

  "No, no, it doesn't put me out, friend; nothing will put me out, unlessthat supper is not the very best which Miss Sally can cook, and whichhas ever been served in 'The Fisherman's Rest.'"

  "You need have no fear of that, my lord," said Sally, who all this whilehad been busy setting the table for supper. And very gay and invitingit looked, with a large bunch of brilliantly coloured dahlias in thecentre, and the bright pewter goblets and blue china about.

  "How many shall I lay for, my lord?"

  "Five places, pretty Sally, but let the supper be enough for ten atleast--our friends will be tired, and, I hope, hungry. As for me, I vowI could demolish a baron of beef to-night."

  "Here they are, I do believe," said Sally excitedly, as a distantclatter of horses and wheels could now be distinctly heard, drawingrapidly nearer.

  There was a general commotion in the coffee-room. Everyone was curiousto see my Lord Antony's swell friends from over the water. Miss Sallycast one or two quick glances at the little bit of mirror which hungon the wall, and worthy Mr. Jellyband bustled out in order to givethe first welcome himself to his distinguished guests. Only the twostrangers in the corner did not participate in the general excitement.They were calmly finishing their game of dominoes, and did not even lookonce towards the door.

  "Straight ahead, Comtesse, the door on your right," said a pleasantvoice outside.

  "Aye! there they are, all right enough." said Lord Antony, joyfully;"off with you, my pretty Sally, and see how quick you can dish up thesoup."

  The door was thrown wide open, and, preceded by Mr. Jellyband, who wasprofuse in his bows and w
elcomes, a party of four--two ladies and twogentlemen--entered the coffee-room.

  "Welcome! Welcome to old England!" said Lord Antony, effusively, as hecame eagerly forward with both hands outstretched towards the newcomers.

  "Ah, you are Lord Antony Dewhurst, I think," said one of the ladies,speaking with a strong foreign accent.

  "At your service, Madame," he replied, as he ceremoniously kissed thehands of both the ladies, then turned to the men and shook them bothwarmly by the hand.

  Sally was already helping the ladies to take off their travelling cloaks,and both turned, with a shiver, towards the brightly-blazing hearth.

  There was a general movement among the company in the coffee-room. Sallyhad bustled off to her kitchen whilst Jellyband, still profuse with hisrespectful salutations, arranged one or two chairs around the fire. Mr.Hempseed, touching his forelock, was quietly vacating the seat inthe hearth. Everyone was staring curiously, yet deferentially, at theforeigners.

  "Ah, Messieurs! what can I say?" said the elder of the two ladies, asshe stretched a pair of fine, aristocratic hands to the warmth of theblaze, and looked with unspeakable gratitude first at Lord Antony, thenat one of the young men who had accompanied her party, and who was busydivesting himself of his heavy, caped coat.

  "Only that you are glad to be in England, Comtesse," replied LordAntony, "and that you have not suffered too much from your tryingvoyage."

  "Indeed, indeed, we are glad to be in England," she said, while hereyes filled with tears, "and we have already forgotten all that we havesuffered."

  Her voice was musical and low, and there was a great deal of calmdignity and of many sufferings nobly endured marked in the handsome,aristocratic face, with its wealth of snowy-white hair dressed highabove the forehead, after the fashion of the times.

  "I hope my friend, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, proved an entertainingtravelling companion, madame?"

  "Ah, indeed, Sir Andrew was kindness itself. How could my children and Iever show enough gratitude to you all, Messieurs?"

  Her companion, a dainty, girlish figure, childlike and pathetic in itslook of fatigue and of sorrow, had said nothing as yet, but her eyes,large, brown, and full of tears, looked up from the fire and soughtthose of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, who had drawn near to the hearth and toher; then, as they met his, which were fixed with unconcealed admirationupon the sweet face before him, a thought of warmer colour rushed up toher pale cheeks.

  "So this is England," she said, as she looked round with childlikecuriosity at the great hearth, the oak rafters, and the yokels withtheir elaborate smocks and jovial, rubicund, British countenances.

  "A bit of it, Mademoiselle," replied Sir Andrew, smiling, "but all ofit, at your service."

  The young girl blushed again, but this time a bright smile, fleet andsweet, illumined her dainty face. She said nothing, and Sir Andrew toowas silent, yet those two young people understood one another, as youngpeople have a way of doing all the world over, and have done since theworld began.

  "But, I say, supper!" here broke in Lord Antony's jovial voice, "supper,honest Jellyband. Where is that pretty wench of yours and the dish ofsoup? Zooks, man, while you stand there gaping at the ladies, they willfaint with hunger."

  "One moment! one moment, my lord," said Jellyband, as he threw open thedoor that led to the kitchen and shouted lustily: "Sally! Hey, Sallythere, are ye ready, my girl?"

  Sally was ready, and the next moment she appeared in the doorwaycarrying a gigantic tureen, from which rose a cloud of steam and anabundance of savoury odour.

  "Odd's life, supper at last!" ejaculated Lord Antony, merrily, as hegallantly offered his arm to the Comtesse.

  "May I have the honour?" he added ceremoniously, as he led her towardsthe supper table.

  There was a general bustle in the coffee-room: Mr. Hempseed and most ofthe yokels and fisher-folk had gone to make way for "the quality," andto finish smoking their pipes elsewhere. Only the two strangers stayedon, quietly and unconcernedly playing their game of dominoes and sippingtheir wine; whilst at another table Harry Waite, who was fast losing histemper, watched pretty Sally bustling round the table.

  She looked a very dainty picture of English rural life, and no wonderthat the susceptible young Frenchman could scarce take his eyes off herpretty face. The Vicomte de Tournay was scarce nineteen, a beardlessboy, on whom terrible tragedies which were being enacted in his owncountry had made but little impression. He was elegantly and evenfoppishly dressed, and once safely landed in England he was evidentlyready to forget the horrors of the Revolution in the delights of Englishlife.

  "Pardi, if zis is England," he said as he continued to ogle Sally withmarked satisfaction, "I am of it satisfied."

  It would be impossible at this point to record the exact exclamationwhich escaped through Mr. Harry Waite's clenched teeth. Only respectfor "the quality," and notably for my Lord Antony, kept his markeddisapproval of the young foreigner in check.

  "Nay, but this IS England, you abandoned young reprobate," interposedLord Antony with a laugh, "and do not, I pray, bring your loose foreignways into this most moral country."

  Lord Antony had already sat down at the head of the table with theComtesse on his right. Jellyband was bustling round, filling glasses andputting chairs straight. Sally waited, ready to hand round the soup.Mr. Harry Waite's friends had at last succeeded in taking him out ofthe room, for his temper was growing more and more violent under theVicomte's obvious admiration for Sally.

  "Suzanne," came in stern, commanding accents from the rigid Comtesse.

  Suzanne blushed again; she had lost count of time and of place whilstshe had stood beside the fire, allowing the handsome young Englishman'seyes to dwell upon her sweet face, and his hand, as if unconsciously,to rest upon hers. Her mother's voice brought her back to reality oncemore, and with a submissive "Yes, Mama," she took her place at thesupper table.

  CHAPTER IV THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL